I Am
by Jin-Chan16
Summary: A series of oneshots with all the Junjo Romantica couples. I do not own anything. This story is also open for suggestions. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

So this is a series of one shots, if anyone has any requests I will gladly take them! This is going to involve all of the Junjo Romantica couples so feel free to suggest any of those as well.

This is rated M for future chapters (of course), this first one just for safety reasons is M. This also the Egoist couple since there are too few of those.

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><p><strong>Jaded<strong>

"I love you," he whispered, his cold hands caressing me, holding me as I lifted and impaled myself onto him. Pleasure fueled us, his words urging me on, if I did this right, I could make him feel so good, then these words would mean something. "I love you…so much," he whispered against my lips.

I smiled and repeated my actions, moving with my hips upwards, this feeling of being full, of being loved, was intoxicating. His hands running through my hair, his cold touch against my burning skin, the deepest part of me being reached, this was a high all on its own. I moved on my own, up and down, our pants of pleasure thickening the air, his hands roaming against my chest, pinching my erect nipples, grasping my shoulders to push me down harder, our passion was thick and molting. His bracing hands were all the cooled my hot flesh, and as we reached our peak of completion he pulled me down my face, crashing his chapped lips against mine, and pulled away breathing against my swollen ones.

"I love you…" I came, shivering, gasping as I rode out my orgasm, I felt him go stiff and slightly cock his head back, "Takahiro,"

It ended there; any trace of pleasure was defeated at the name, any happiness that I had built during our most intimate encounters had been destroyed.

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding; aching with every throb as my memory crept up on me. I sit up carefully, looking to my side where Nowaki slept peacefully, his face calm, the faintest of movement from his eyes show that he's deep asleep, his thin lips slightly parted, his hair falling to his face. Charily, I run my hand through his hair, sweeping the dark tendrils of hair from his soft featured face that in dark, in the calmness of sleep makes him look like a child.

Carefully, I slip out of bed and like a child I tiptoe to the bathroom, shutting the door before turning the light on. I lean against the sink with my hands and look at the man in the mirror, his chestnut hair isn't grey at twenty eight, it's longish and overdue for a trim. His eyes are a light brown and still have a lot of fight left in them, the hours of grading papers and planning lessons have taken their toll making them look more tired than they are. His face hasn't any sign of blemishes of wrinkles though his friend continuously says he'll get them if he continues to furrow his brows. His nose is small and straight, his lips are still swollen from the previous night's activities.

This man is wiser than he was five years ago, he's happier than he was all that time ago when his decisions were irrational, stupid and self destructive. I wish that man in the mirror had known then what he knows now, I wish he hadn't have broken his own heart with his own body. I wish he knew that he could be happy with the man in his bed forever if he allows it, if he allows himself to completely trust the man sleeping in the other room, the man he calls his lover. I wish he could relax some, let go of that hurt and pain that he inflicted onto himself with a repressed love that he never confided in his best friend who was the one who hurt him so without knowing it. I wish this man could take back time, I wish he could smack the man he was with a book and tell him to look for the man who worked in the flower shop, the tall man with dark raven hair, with caring blue eyes that saw past all his demons and sins.

"Hiro-san," the soft, groggy voice of Nowaki makes me turn to the door where he stands. His eyes squinting to try to adjust to the bright light of the bathroom light, his hair disheveled, his pajama pants twisted around the waist. "are you ok?"

I look back at the man in the mirror, he has a class in the late morning he has to be prepared for, a meeting after that, dinner to cook after that, and a lover to make love to after that.

"Yeah," I say, pushing myself off the counter of the bathroom and coming to the doorway where Nowaki stood. I flick the light off and wrap my arms around Nowaki's neck, feeling his bare chest against my clothed is a secure sensation, one I hope always lasts. His hands rest themselves at my hips, pulling me closer, the feel of his breathe on me is warming, arousing in a way. I pull back and push my lips to his, it's a soft and hazy kiss that only lasts a minute or two, as I pull back he comes forward, his hands pulling me closer. He rests his head on mine, his eyes closed and through the dark I can make out the hint of a sleepy smile.

"I love you," I say, my hands are on his shoulders, feeling the softness, the sturdiness of them, they look so small on his broad shoulders. His eyes open and our eyes meet, brown clashing with blue, our lips a breath's distant away, hovering over what could be, of what that would lead to.

His lips cover mine simply, overlapping mine once, then twice before he pulls away. His head moves to the side of my face, our cheeks touching as he whispers into my ear like he's done a thousand times before and what I know he'll do a thousand times after, "I love you, too,"

Five years ago, I would have wished for a different man to say that, to tell me those words and make me feel like I was loved only by him. But that man found someone else, that man found love in a not so expected place, I found mine just around the corner, and while I had always thought I was the one chasing him, trying hard to find love it had turned out I was the one being chased; for once it was my love someone wanted, still wants, will always want.

And as he lays me down on the bed, as my shirt is lifted off of me and a loving assault is ensued onto my neck and chest, I know that that man I saw earlier is who I am now. Maybe who I was all long without knowing it.


	2. Chapter 2

So I made this after hearing Little House by Amanda Seyfried, the male version. Here's a link, listen to it while you read, it really sets the mood I think.

.com/watch?v=YNiCnFAYQgU

Anyway, I hope you guys like it!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.**

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><p><em>Misaki<em>

It's one of those nights where I'm alone, when another meeting comes up and I'm left to my own dwellings. The fridge hums, the air conditioner cuts off, the washing machine squeals. Even the small sounds are comforting, letting me know that I'm still home. The bears are all put away, but even one of them makes me feel less alone, bow and all. My homework always gets done faster when he's away, like there's so much time and then so little of it.

The bedroom feels so spacious without him hogging the bed, outstretched and pulling the covers tight around him. The sheets are cold, sending slight goosebumps up my arms and back, it doesn't feel right to lay on my own pillow, to have just the sheets around me.

I know he'll back shortly, I know that Aikawa will probably drop him off or he'll take a cab here and be back by early morning. But still, the emptiness this home gives off when he's not here is suffocating.

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><p>Another night we have to put on hold, dinner on the table, rice getting cold, homemade sushi spoiling more and more by the minute. Another movie we won't watch, waiting in the living room, not even out of its plastic yet. Another night alone.<p>

The apologies are endless but I feel as though I haven't been given enough, he kisses my forehead and smiles reassuringly, promising another night, another dinner, and another date that he'll make better. An injury he'll kiss all better.

My heart churns as I hear the door close, quietly but impatiently as he goes down to meet his publisher. The plastic wrap and small Rubber Maid containers fill with a never to happen dinner, a forgotten evening before it could even be made.

I take a seat at the dining table, the candle that had been placed to set a romantic mood burns somberly, flickering, swaying. Always burning, wax melting, dripping down the side and into a pool of colleting wet white wax. I look outside, the dark sky is chilling, shivers come even with my green sweater and jeans. Eventually, slowly, snow starts to seep through the clouds and flies downward, sprinkling the city with another annual snow that frosts over until late spring.

It's always so cold here alone.

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><p>The cover of the book is of two males, back to back, one looking up into a sunny snowfall, embracing the white flakes with an outstretched hand, the other looking downward, trying not to feel the peace of it, their hands interlaced in the middle. On the back the summary is of two boys, one older than the other, how they survive their dramatic trials and fall in love with each other. This is supposed to be our story, but to be honest, it doesn't feel anything like that.<p>

His arms wrap around me from behind the couch, his chin resting on my shoulder, I feel his smile.

"I know how you don't like me writing about us," he kisses my neck, tenderly, sweetly, "but I wanted something to dedicate to you, even if it isn't directly, I hope you know that I worked hard on it for you." He nuzzles his face into the back of my neck, his embrace tightening; I set the book down and take his hands into mine. "I love you, Misaki,"

I fight back the tears, the pain in my chest blossoming as I feel him pull me up; holding me so securely, so safely. The empty nights alone are worth this, are worth this stupid brilliant pain that makes everything ok. And as he comes around the couch, as he lays me down, peeling off my clothes and kissing me so passionately, I can't stop the tears from flowing. As he runs his hands up my sides, as he delves into parts that I don't dare let anyone else travel, as he pushes into parts of me, inside of me, I remember the love we share. The love we make when everything becomes normal again, the love we make when we hold each other at night, the love we make when we laugh together, the love we make when no one else is there for us.

I remember that as he climaxes into me and I onto him, I remember so as I hold him close, his body sweaty and pulsing erratically, I don't push him away out of silly resentment.

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><p>"I have a meeting in Kyoto tomorrow night," he says as I wash the dishes, this is news. I don't look at him as I scrub the plates clean, I don't listen to him as he gets up, I don't acknowledge him as he wraps his arms around me. I do choke down the hurt, the excitement I had been holding in for two weeks shatters, knowing that I'll have to cancel our tickets to the Sakura festival and for our reservations at a restaurant nearby there.<p>

"I'll make it up to you," he whispers into my ear, kissing my cheek.

Maybe my studies have made me irritable; maybe the weather is making me cranky, maybe the washing detergent is contaminated and making me have a psychotic break. Either way, I turn and physically shove him away, his astonished look fuels me.

"Another meeting?" I spit, "I thought you hated meetings?" venom clings to every word. His eyes narrow when he comes down from his shock.

"I do." He says firmly, "But that doesn't change the fact that I have to go." He talks to me like he's talking to a child, you'd think at twenty I'd be taken seriously.

"What happened to when you could just refuse? You used to be able to actually stay home for more than a week." I drain the sink and make my escape, heading straight for the living room. He grabs my arm tightly, making me look back at him; his eyes soften when they see my own watery set of green. He moves his hand up to cradle my cheek, he wants to wipe away my tears and tell me he loves me, I don't give him a chance. I smack his hand away and glare as hard as I can.

He sighs, "Misaki, look," I jerk my arm away, again taking him by surprise. I turn my body towards him, standing stiffly, trying not to let my shoulders tremble.

"Don't talk to me like I'm still a kid," I all but shout, "I'm not some kid anymore Usagi-san. Believe it or not I can actually understand it when you and Aikawa talk about _grown up_ things." My hands clench tightly at my sides, my bones rattle, my nerves quake as his anger grows in his eyes. "What I don't understand is why you can't stay here for more than a few days, why you only come home for all the good and leave when I need you!"

"You know that's bullshit!" He retaliates, his anger more prominent now than before. "I go to all those fucking meetings so we have something to come home to! So you can have a kitchen to cook in and a roof over our heads!"

"You know we don't need the money, you get more and more every week without even lifting a finger! All I'm asking is for some actual time with you, not the tired pissed off you or the fucking horny rabbit, but the actual you!" Tears spill over at the last word; the hurt and anger bounce off the walls and hang in the air.

He's silent, I can't see him through my tears but I can almost feel his pain. I look down, biting my lower lip to silence any sobs that threaten to tear through me. A cool hand rests on top of my head, his body inches closer to mine, "Misaki,"

I close my eyes tight as I shove him away and bolt to the door, I run through his cries, past his thundering footsteps as I make my way down the fire escape stair way till I'm outside, the cold evening air hits my face as I run faster and faster.

_Usagi-san_

I watch as he runs into the street, disappearing onto another street. I take a seat on the couch, my hand shaking as I put a cigarette to my lips, it feels like forever before I'm able to actually light it. I take a deep drag, looking at all my rough drafts that I had organized on the coffee table, the edits Aikawa had suggested are in red, more ideas, more stories, more projects also cover the glass surface. I stub my cigarette out in the panda ashtray before looking at my work again. So many ideas, so many new opportunities, I look at my future, my career on the table before I lift my head to the book shelves, pictures of Misaki and I cover them. They surround the penthouse, usually reminding us of what we had to look forward to in the morning.

I wonder when I had forgotten that. I look back at the coffee table, red and black ink on white paper. I look back at the book shelf, for the first time in months common sense comes back to me and with a rush of anger, of frustration, of realization I grab the table by the edge and shove it to the side. The glass shatters against the hardwood floor; papers fly and scurry across the floor with the glass.

I look back at the clock; it's already nine fifty. I grab my cell phone from the kitchen counter and dial an all too familiar number, the ringing is returned with a loud vibrating coming from the opposing counter, Misaki's phone.

"Shit," I hiss, before going to another number.

"Aikawa," I run a hand through my hair, a wave of anxiety crashing against me, "I don't know where Misaki is."

We searched every street, before actually going into places, cafes, restaurants, hotels, clubs even. Hysteria crept up on me more than once during our search, the dark alleys made me in my sick mind think of what could have happened, what might happen if we didn't find him. Aikawa, being the ever more positive one would hit me on the head, hard enough to know that I would have a knot there the next day, and say, "He's fine. We just haven't found him."

It was almost three hours later, six almost panic attacks and eight smacks later when we went into this small café like place. The décor warm and cozy with earthy colors, a small stage in the centre and set of drums and microphones rested there. A music place, obviously with its posters of Tokyo Hotel and Yui and many others. The lights were dim and a single blue spotlight was on the stage, where he sat, Misaki.

His hair was pulled up by the sides, the bottoms of his jeans dirty, his sleeves rolled up, his face flushed. He was something else as he sang, his voice soft and gentle, he was a wingless angel as I watched him.

When the song ended, the lyrics still echoing inside of me, he slowly, cautiously walked toward me. His eyes shining in the dim lights as another singer started. I tuned them out as he came face to face with me, his eyes never leaving mine even as tears again spilt over.

"I'm sorry," I said, taking his hand into mine and leading him away. Aikawa had left then, knowing that we would need some time together.

The freshly fallen slow had covered the sidewalk as we walked home, hand in hand for the first few yards. Somewhere between the café and home he stopped and pulled his hand free, I turned, worried that I had done something when a firm cold ball hit me in the chest.

In shock I watched as he laughed, holding his sides as I stared, catching myself I leaned down and grabbed some of the cold whiteness and threw one back. His lyrics floating with us as we ran,

_I love this place_

_But it's haunted without you_

_My tired heart__Is beating so…_

_Slow_

No longer adults or an almost college graduate or an author but just two people. Two stupid people who couldn't let go of each other as we raced home.

_Our hearts sing less than  
>We wanted, we wanted<br>Our hearts sing 'cause  
>We do not know, we do not know<em>

The penthouse was warm as we tumbled in, laughing and giggling as we held each other, his arms wrapped around my neck, my hands holding his waist. I lean down when the door shuts, pulling him against me and resting my head on his, looking into his bright emerald eyes as he smiles. We kiss, _we_ kiss for the first time in what feels like years. His overlapping mine and mine returning the favor.

_To light the night ,to help us grow  
>To help us grow<br>It is not said, I always know_

I pull him closer to me, taking in the smell of his shampoo, of his skin, of his clothes. Breathing him in, renewing myself of what I've deprived myself for so long. His hands move down to my arms, his body leaning against mine as I trace his sides, his waist, his hips, reminding myself of who I fell in love with.

_You can catch me  
>Don't you run, don't you run<br>If you live another day  
>In this happy little house<br>The fire's here to stay_

I kiss his neck, tasting his skin, the warmth of it, the color of it; he sighs contently and cranes his neck, giving me more room. I kiss down his neck, to his shoulder, to his collarbone, his small fingers thread through my hair, cradling my scalp as I cherish his body. Slowly, my fingers run up his torso, peeling off his red sweater, pulling it over his shoulders and above his head before letting it crumble to the floor. I kiss his chest, feeling his heart fluttering erratically against my lips.

_To light the night, to help us grow  
>To help us grow<br>It is not said, I always know_

"Usagi-san," He whispers, his back arching against my hands, I feel his shoulder blades, his spine, his ribs as he moves. My hands move to behind his thighs, and with a urging squeeze he jumps and wraps his legs around my waist. I carry him through the mess in the living room and to upstairs, past my study and to our bedroom,_ our_ bedroom.

Carefully, gingerly, I lay him down on the bed, watching him spread out against the cool sheets, his chest rising and falling eagerly. I swoop down and continue to ravish, to kiss his chest, his stomach, his navel, his abdomen, the button of his jeans. He fights back a groan as I slowly pull down the zipper with my teeth and slip the button out of place. His hips arch into my lips, wanting to fulfill his desire a little lower, but I tease him and kiss his hipbones.

"Please," he sighs, trying hard not to watch me as I pull his lower clothing down, his manhood erect and swollen against his abdomen. Warm and wet with precum, I kiss the side and he gasps, I lick with just the tip of my tongue and he moans.

"Sing for me, Misaki," I whisper against his reddening flesh, "sing for me like you did back there." I suck lightly on the underside, nipping ever so slightly.

_Please don't make a fuss, it won't go away  
>The wonder of it all<br>The wonder that I made  
><em>

He tries to keep his voice smooth, but the heavy breathes he takes make it even more hypnotizing. I put three fingers to his swollen lips, he all but eagerly takes them in, wetting them with his tongue. Moving between every digit slowly then quickly, flicking the skin in an attempt to be teasing. It makes me want to go faster, but tonight, it's about him and what I know he loves.

I take my fingers out and push against the tight ring of muscles, pushing just one inside. It had been a good two and half weeks since we had done something this intimate. This passionate.

I push the other in slowly, letting him enjoy the feeling of being taken, of having me give him the attention he deserves. I thrust them in together, deeper than before and barely graze the bundle of nerves that make him writhe in bliss. With the third he gasps, it had been a while since I had properly stretched him, and now, watching him enjoy the feelings, the sensations of it I regret not having been as loving as I should have.

"Please," he whimpers, pushing onto my fingers with his hips, "I want you." He all but sobs, I smile and move up his body, my chest grazing his erection, his abdomen, his chest till I'm face to face with him again, and gently I kiss him. My lips locking with his, holding his attention with a loving gesture before pulling my fingers out and aligning my own desire with his stretched hole. I pull away and lean down to his ear.

"Sing for me, love," I kiss his neck as I push in, his breath hitching , his hands grasping my arms tightly, nails digging crescent moons into my skin. "Shh," I coo as I fill him more and more with myself, letting him adjust with each inch. I don't move, I barely breath as I feel him tense underneath me, his body shaking with pain and pleasure. "Sing for me, please." He swallows before he complies.

_I am here to stay_

Slowly I pull out and push back in just as carefully, he gasps, his grip never letting up from my arms. I begin to set a rhythm, in and out cautiously, careful not to hurt him as I push deeper and deeper with every thrust. He moans and begins to push against me, his eyes again locking with mine, desire, passion, longing, love fill them like previous tears had.

"Faster," he whispers, I smile and steal a kiss from him before doing just as he asked. Pushing deeper into him at an increased rate, hitting that small spot in him that set his body on fire.

"Usagi-san," he sobs out, meeting my every thrust with his hips, his desire is now red and rubbing between our bodies, the friction along with the delving pleasure I give him make him cry out. "I'm…I'm so…" I steal another kiss, my tongue sliding between his parted lips and running over the roof of his mouth as I feel my completion start to take over.

I reach in between us and grip his dripping erection and stroke it with each hard thrust, and soon we both stumble into white climax, our orgasms riding off us in waves. I support myself on my elbows, each on either side of him as I pull out, my essence dripping onto the silky white sheets, his spilling onto our stomachs.

I rest my head on his shoulder, sweat running down my cheek as I listen to his rigid breathing.

_I am here to stay_

I look up at him, his eyes cloudy with exhaustion and afterglow, I can't find the strength to smile as I feel his breathing slowing. Instead, I pull myself to his lips and kiss him one more time before laying on my side, him in my arms.

"Stay," he whispers groggily before drifting off into sleep. I kiss his forehead as his breathing becomes labored, and as I feel myself surrendering into a sated sleep, I whisper back.

"I always will."


End file.
